


Silverspell

by Arayne



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-10 03:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10427847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arayne/pseuds/Arayne
Summary: In a city of starving orphans and dying morals, one can always afford to get duped. Lance has stuck by that philosophy from when was cast aside as such a young orphan: only to come back a conniving false-facer, a brilliant actor, and a cunning thief.Dubbing themselves the Paladins, in a mock-imitation of the chivalrous, Lance, Pidge and Hunk have stuck together since childhood and worked themselves up in the city’s ranks. When they try to find their newest recruit in Shiro, their plans sour when he goes missing. Their only lead is Keith: A fellow orphan whom Lance has despised since childhood.





	1. Chapter 1

It was in the middle of the night that he left his orphans to the caring hands of a boy who had been stupid enough to vouch for their protection. It was not his concern; sooner or later he would return and if there was but the one peep from an unruly brat then by the Red Goddess would be thrashed within an inch of his life. The man could not handle disarray, certainly had no tolerance for disobedience and while the help offered had been an excuse to slack off, it had also served as a permanent reminder as to why he should never let strangers help him. He would find a way to get rid of the boy later.

Now there was another boy he was desperate to get rid of.  
  
Pushing through the deserted street, his feet clacked heavily on the sleek cobbles. Of course no one but the city watch would step foot in this part of the town on evenings like this; even the moon was obscured by a thick layer of clouds and the Servant's Quarter was known for its _illicit_ activities.   
  
"You're here." The shadow the voice belonged to did not step away from the wall it blended in with so perfectly. A footman then, the man he was supposed to meet with would never stick to shadows so crudely as there was no need.  
  
He bared his teeth in no attempt to smile. Intimidation ruled these districts and he was well-familiar with its politics. After all, _he_ could sniff out fragility and snap it clean over his knee. "Indeed, tell him I'm coming."

A nod, one blink and the shadow was gone.

He did not have to wait long; when the other man stepped out from beneath an archway some two doors to his right, the presence was unmistakable. It did not matter how many people they had exchanged over the years, how many favours compassed, orders executed - there was a knowledge in that relaxed stride of leather on pavement, the rustle of robes in the wind and the smile that only tugged upwards the barest of fractions: Zarkon would not accept failure.

"Lord Zarkon." He bent at the knee immediately.

"The boy?" No pleasantries, no comment on the latest boy they had exchanged, a meagre thing of twelve years old with a streak for cruelty and bruises along the upside of his arms. None of the others had particularly regretted his departure but it had made ruling over them so much harder. He knew better than to bring him up, lost as he would be, possibly passed on into slavery if he could not provide his use.

And if this boy couldn't, then he could sense a very slippery slope for him indeed.

"He's not with me."

"No need for pretences." There was a careful examination of his face and he refused to morph his expression into anything else. Weakness was a curse. "Trust is a precarious thing, and I expect it to be given at a moment's notice. His value?" 

"Potential."

"You said that about the last boy."

He did not flinch at the mention, had already guessed the boy's worth the moment he was omitted from the pleasantries. "This boy is different."

Silence followed, a tentative perrmission to continue. "Talented, not as smart as he thinks he is, unruly to the point where I can no longer keep him."

Zarkon stepped closer and he stood his ground, could feel the trace of breath on his face. "So generous to give him to me, like the last brat you thought to dispose of."

"There might be a trace of it in him." Although he could keep his voice steady, his breath came quick as he suddenly became hyper aware of the eyes that he felt burning in the back of his skull, somewhere on the arched rooftops behind them. Zarkon had ordered for _sentries_ to be present, the meagre sense of trust was palpable in the crossbow directed at the centre of his back. One wrong move. Just the _one wrong move_. "Just that hint of what you need, purposeful, and if not you can dispose of him. He is free of charge."

"A token of _friendship_?"

"A token of 'I want to get rid of this little shit before he spoils the rest of them'."

"I would have never expected your generosity at any other cost."

Zarkon inclined his head and while it was nothing but a formality, he could already feel the pressure lifting from his shoulders when there was no longer the foreboding sense that he would get shot for breathing the wrong way. He despised himself for the way his body caved where his mind would not; not in its unwavering respect for Zarkon, neither for his loyalty inspired by the deal that they had negotiated years ago. The man was unforgiving, but rewarding in his payments.

A quick handshake followed, fingers wrapped up tight around each other in a bruising grip.

"We have an agreement then, I expect you to honour it."

"The boy is yours."

 

### I.

Loud yowling. A scuffle. _Wince._

Lance was not having a good day today. Fortunately this character was permitted to rub fingers against sore temples in exasperation without breaking face and when he looked up from weary glances at the  table before him, his frown seemed fitting for the situation.

"Dire indeed." This time he was Arl Enzana, in true Farshell fashion, dressed from head to toe in white with a touch of black in his hair. _This time_ they had decided on a feather, previously it had been a swirling hairclip in the shape of the flower. Hunk had lost it the last time they'd done this. The couple in front of them seemed to come from the Farshell area so Lance had only deemed it appropriate to make them feel welcome and at home; by masking his identity and taking advantage of every Farshell custom that could get his hands on.

Businessmen were too easy to trick. Their fault for moving to Ciranne anyway.

"It seems that your dear mother's spirit truly cannot pass on." The irritation feigned was supposedly directed at the ghost and the couple in front of him eyed him with anxious tenacity. The woman was not far removed from age compared to Lance himself, early twenties, blonde hair coiled tightly in a bun atop a face that seemed too pinched; never liked Farshells anyway. The man was at least a decade older, kept alive by white make-up smeared over his face with the blush that was meant to make him look alive.

It didn't.

"She did not pass on?" The man, Aiwan, enquired. Clearly this distraught him.

Clearly, Lance did not care.

"Indeed." He spread his hands above the table and pointed towards one of the cards that he had pulled only moment's prior; a moon hidden by a cluster of stars. "She cannot pass on."

The trick was to make it look obvious, even if Lance himself had no idea what any of these cards meant he had learned very quickly that neither did any of them. "She seems to be stuck in the shroud."

"Not the _shroud_." Cried the woman.

"Dire indeed." Lance sighed and he could feel his ears still ringing from the earlier yowling, no thanks to Pidge's invention. It was meant to imitate a woman howling in pain but instead it sounded like a dying cat being thrown in with the a demon. There were some tweaks required, as Lance feared that he would be going deaf should he listen to it on the _next_ heist. "As I have previously instructed, the only way to appease her is with the scent of either vanilla or lavender -"

"Mother's favourite scents."

"And something in similar weight, metal, and appearance to the gold that has adorned her wrists, one of her personal items such as a handkerchief, along with well-wishes for her afterlife with the five Goddesses."

"She has always favoured Blue."

Lance's mouth quirked. "How coincidental; she is my favourite too."

 

### II.

Two hours later, Lance strolled along the sides of the canal that dipped into the Sanguine river, feet skipping over pebbles and feeling the weight of the gold in the knapsack he carried under his coat. No matter how secure: one knew not to fuck around with the mistresses of fate. It had been a good three years since anyone had nicked the hard-earned cash off the cloth of his back but Lance could still feel the anger that had consumed him when Pidge had gone hungry that night.

Evening was falling, a gentle breeze that tugged at his hair as he reached the golden bridge that intersected Slaver's Bay with the Marketplace. There had been a time, long ago when Ciranne had still managed to deem itself cultured, when slaves had been coming in from the harbour which earned it the name of "Wailer's Corner". As irony would have it, as soon as Ciranne was usurped by its neighbouring district, slavery had been abolished and Slaver's Bay became the rich equivalent of not quite being able to get rid of the shit under one's shoe. Lance hated it. Lance loved it.

He was fascinated by its large square full of vendors that tried to sell him anything from the newest fashion to the latest gossip: the shoddy buildings having long since been replaced with spindly towers amongst the precious white stones of both higher-class and tourism alike. The houses were regularly squared into lots but here and there he could see the peak of a solitary house, accompanied by one of those twisting spheres that Ciranneans had deemed appropriate for living. 

There had been judgement, at first. The snooty look of the upper class, the shove in his back, the cane at his throat. _Ah_. The rude awakening of a con-artist that discovers that there is no place for him amongst the rich; until you can imitate them. No wonder Sendak had never let them near here, the risk of being hanged was much too great when the city guard was ever so eager to display your body on the town hall up North. Lance had never quite gotten over the lump in his throat when he saw little feet hanging off the side of the building, a sad reminder of how Sendak's teachings had failed to protect them.

Lance loved Slaver's Bay.

The feeling he got when he got recognition for his staged face and fake name and the money lining his pockets of those he had duped was indescribably euphoric and deliciously petty.

No one had taken care of them and now it was time to pay it back in full. 

Once the golden bridge was past him, Lance's feet traced familiar streets and backways alleys until the lights slowly grew dimmer and the walls lining either side of him grew only grimier and shoddier. No one would follow him here, no one _could_. Where they lived was beyond the vivid marketplace of the town's centre, brightly painted with both reds and music strokes as if they were colours, pushed back into some far-off corner on the side of the map as if fate had known what would befallen it.

"Hah." Lance whistled, rather enjoying the disquiet. "Home sweet home."

The old district.

It had been ridden by a plague some ten years past and none had dared to step foot since. Well, except for those orphans who had survived the disease and lived to tell the tale. 

A sliver of moonlight illuminated the crumbled stones of the temple of goddesses, faded circular designs within its window panes that had gone from vivid blue to a watery yellow; only due to the few candles that they had kept burning inside. It might have been eerie had Pidge not dragged them across the threshold of an arched entryway into the darkness within.

Lance had yelled, screeched his lungs out, simply thinking of ghosts and the supernatural. Only natural wasn't it? This place had been swept clean by death, the memory was clearer to some than others.

Hunk had his own reasons for not wanting to disturb the peace, burglars and murderers and even the slightest hint of respect that had not quite yet died out.

Both of them were concerned for Pidge, all of ten years old and packing so much weight into her small frame. Both of them thought of the plague, the way Pidge had come into Sendak's care.

Both of them had guessed wrong.

"It's perfect." she'd said, winding down the dusty stairs, fingers tracing the bannister and the _tap tap tap_ of her feet that disappeared underground. Lance had nearly had a heart attack when he couldn't find her in the maze of hallways that wound around the temple.

In the end she had found them a spot, and when the rubble had been cleared and proper arrangements had been made, in the end the old district had become their home.

"I'm back!"

Pidge was sprawled among the pillows, head buried in notes that were scattered before her and a blanket carelessly draped across her lithe frame. "Took you long enough."

Lance shrugged off his coat to dump over one of the many broken pitfalls within their little haven before he dumped the knapsack onto Pidge's back. She cursed in response.

"No warm welcome for sir Enzala?" Lance scoffed and dropped to the floor beside her, scooting right to embrace the light of the burning furnace. Hunk had restored it to its original glory and Lance had never been more thankful for his best friend. Nights beneath a ruined temple got incredibly cold, and most of the original architecture down there had been touched by decay.

"Arl Enzala is back?" A cheerful voice spoke up before Hunk appeared, carrying two trays in his hands and still managed to bend at the waist without dropping it. "Welcome to our humble abode sir."

Lance sniffed dramatically before he ripped the moustache off and winced. That never got any easier. "Well it's a good thing you carry the food my man, or I might have felt unwelcome."

The steady crackling of the fire soothed him as he began to strip down to his underwear, shrugging off the heavy brocade doublet that pinched his waist and tossing the silk gloves into the direction of their makeshift dresser.

"I really don't want to see you naked Lance." Pidge remarked as she started to sift through the sack's contents without looking up.

"Blessed as you are on Blue's name day." Lance rummaged through a chest nearby to grab more comfortable slacks and a shirt. "Unfortunately not even Hunk's fire can save me from the night's chill naked."

Hunk whistled as the array of golden bracelets, sparkling with tiny beset diamonds, was carefully spread out over the red duvet before them. "Well done buddy."

"Ah?" As much as Lance complained about receiving no appreciation, there was a warm feeling in his belly whenever either of his friends complimented him on a job well done. He hadn't even _looked_ at the contents yet, wanting to share in the news with them. "Well of course, I spent two hours cleaning the spirits from their home."

"Bet you got a hefty sum for that too." Pidge snorted and finally looked at him, glasses askew on her nose. "Fork it over pretty boy."

"The audacity." Lance feigned indignation but tossed the purse onto the blanket as well, carefully making sure it would not hit Pidge in the face. She could handle one, would not tolerate another. "As if I would keep it to myself."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Hunk handed him a plate and Lance managed to snatch one of the buns off before Pidge could beat him to it. Chewing noisily, he managed to take a peek at the money that Hunk let slip through his fingers, counting absently, and felt fairly impressed with himself. A quick assessment counted at least two golden crowns and some silver to spare, enough for him to finally buy that new -

"You're not getting the snail cream Lance."

Lance cursed and nearly choked on his food. "I fucking earned this money Pidgeon!"

"Not without our guidance you did."

"Cheer up buddy." Hunk landed a heavy hand on his shoulder and laughed at the pout that slowly formed on Lance's face. "We'll get you the cream as soon as we sell the bracelets, I'm thinking somewhere closer to the Servant's Quarters as I'm not sure whether milord and milady Balbanise would appreciate seeing them on the marketplace, constables and all that."

"Yeah I also prefer not to hang." Lance shrugged, stung but pacified. Hunk had that effect on people. "It's not as if I'd be able to use Arl Enzala for a while."

"Speaking of." Hunk gave him a once-over and grimaced. "Mind taking your face off? It's freaking me out man."

The art of false-facing was truly unique. It wasn't as simple as putting on a fake moustache and rolling with it. It had been many years before Lance had become a true master at removing all the pretty features of his own face, and replacing it with another that he could wear as comfortably as his own.  
  
_That_ was the true art. Many others that he had seen fell through because breathing another personality simply turned into hyperventilation when the pressure cut off the air to their lungs.

Lance got up in the morning, rummaged through his chest of gimmicks, and started painting over every detail that his mother had kissed goodnight. The freckles were brushed over, his eyebrows emphasised with just a modest layer of coal, the jawline made pronounced with the help of shadows and that's when the true magic began. Lance elongated his nose just a tad and made it broader at the nostrils, shaped his ears, began to line his eyes and thin out his lips. Some with the help of make-up, some with the help of the endless prosthetics that they had both gathered and created. Moustaches were added, hair was thinned out on top, wefts attached at the back of his head.

And that was just his face.

Lance had scrubbed his accent clean of the layers of his local variety, open vowels and close-lipped consonants, until nothing but a foreign man attempting to speak the common tongue remained.

Costumes in Ciranne were as elaborate as they were poor, given them a wide range of options between waistcoats, tailcoats, doublets, trousers, skirts, dresses, hats, gloves, and every cut of fabric imaginable. Arl Enzala had been an austere man with an air of mystery. This meant balding at the top of Lance's head, his hair kept close-cropped so any bald cap could fit easily, and just the whisks of grey hair woven into the rest of the wig. His nose became hooked and his jawline severe, his eyes made beady by more soft coal smudged beneath his eyes.

Arl Enzala was not an attractive man.

"Was swapping the bags easy?" Hunk remarked as Lance busied himself with returning back to normal. "I calculated the weight beforehand but I couldn't make an estimated guess as we hadn't done enough research on what their mother had been buried with."

"The stones you supplied me with were fine." Lance swiped across a brow before it turned back to its regular shape, the bush of grey hairs flicked near the fireplace, "Might have been a couple of grams difference."

"Hmmm I could surmise that she had been buried with two adorning her right wrist and three on her left."

"Ah a tribute to the Blue goddess." Lance smirked. "It was fate."

"Guessing by the gold used, and the equivalent required for the cleansing, I assumed three Lazora rocks to be fine."

"The weight felt great in my hand and they won't know the difference until they check tomorrow morning." He carefully placed the wig pieces into their respective chest. "Which means their gold will hopefully be circulating within the Servant's Quarters by then."

Pidge weighed the gold, placed them in the same knapsack as before, and turned to face them with a couple of notes clutched between her fingers.

"I still haven't found Shiro."

Lance scowled because if _Pidge_ , genius planner extraordinaire, wasn't able to find Shiro then there was little hope of uncovering any other information regarding his disappearance. This meant that they would have to resort to the other ludicrous plan that she'd been toying with, and that was absolutely not-negotiable.

Hunk seemed to sense this as he first looked at Lance before looking at Pidge. "So does that mean...?"

"Yes." Lance did not like the firm set of her mouth. "That means we need Keith."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been planning this AU for quite a while now and have been dying to finally post it. I absolutely adore thieves and intrigues, and there's definitely more of that coming up.
> 
> Also I just really wanted to showcase the relationship between Lance, Hunk, and Pidge as their friendship is precious to me. Keith will make his appearance soon!


	2. Chapter 2

_Keith._

Lance did not want to remember the previous day's argument as he ran past the rubble of the old district's previous gambling house; the edges were blackened with the fire that had consumed it years ago.  
  
_"He is the only person Shiro's been in close contact with for the past five years -"_  
  
_"Ten years." Lance had muttered sullenly._  
  
_"There's no evidence of that." Pidge had tapped her fingers together impatiently. "Just because you so happen to hold a grudge does not make it true."_  
  
Lance quickly glanced at Hunk, who had kept up with his irate pace without a word of complaint even though Lance's long strides must have been wearing him out. As soon as Hunk caught his stare, his feet slowed and he offered a smile. "You doing okay buddy?"  
  
"I just don't understand why we _need_ him Hunk." Lance spat as they finally dove back into civilisation again. Pidge had agreed to come in at a later time, her interference not required at this stage and her age being deemed a too risky factor amongst the likes of criminals. "Pidge seems to think of this as such an easy task but the guy's a hothead! He's -"  
  
"The fury of Ciranne." Hunk repeated gravely. "Yes Lance, you've told me yesterday. But maybe the guy's not so bad you know? After all it's a rumour _you_ started."  
  
"That's because it's true." Lance let his hand run over the bridge's railing, a quick glance to the side reflected his own face back to him in the water. Downwards pull of his lips, frown on his face, and right now he really needed to have the charm of a young prostitute in order to bargain with the Servant's Quarter. "You've seen him, the name wouldn't have stuck had it been a lie."  
  
"We lie for a living Lance."  
  
"Whose side are you on really?"  
  
They dropped the argument. Although it had been a while since Keith Kogane had been brought up, one of the lucky few to remember his surname at an age that most children already forgot their first, it was well-worn and tiring. Lance's opinion on Keith remained unchanged, regardless of the amount of years they had spent apart, regardless of any changes that Keith might have made in his miserable life.

"Oh look here we are."  
  
The Servant's Quarter was an anthill of people, crawling around the busy streets where one character looked even shadier than the last. Although the district itself was moulded into a square like any other, its housing was focused around the shape of a crescent moon when part of it had burned away in the great fire. No one had bothered to replace it and thus all the remaining buildings had remained jam-packed, another fire-hazard in the making. But what the Servant's Quarter lacked in finesse it more than made up for in money; all the buildings were brushed over with fresh paint covering its smooth stones, embedded with glass panes that caught the sunlight in sparkles of red, green, and blue.  
  
"Gentlemen." Lance felt a shudder run through him at the sound of a familiar voice. "How can I be of service today?"  
  
_Galra._  
  
While the Servant's Quarter was full of criminal gangs, ranging from the mediocre to the downright nasty, the Galra were at the top of the pecking order. They were ruthless but that was not where there danger lied. It was the fact that they managed to have a firm hold on every other section of Ciranne, from the slums down to the upperclass masquerades, and even neighbouring towns. It was common knowledge that Galra held a seat on the council, and while some members had tried to fight the filth infiltrating their ranks, their voices had been snuffed out fairly quickly.  
  
Lance never liked dealing with them yet they always assumed that you meant business with them specifically. There was no way to politely refuse one so high up the criminal hierarchy and once they engaged you there was no way out. Browsing was for common folk and those who came bargaining on the fringe of the criminal network certainly had no reason to.  
  
"Morvok." Lance flashed one of his brighter smiles while Hunk stifled a groan next to him. "We might have an interesting deal for you."  
  
He never brought all the goods when visiting the Servant's Quarter. While browsing was technically against the underworld's _many_ unwritten rules on etiquette, bargaining was encouraged. Good thing too because bastards like Morvok were always trying to undercut you.

Hunk spread out three of the golden bracelets for show on the table's blue cloth in front of him.  
  
"Hmm..." Morvok was a small man with a large ego to make up for it. This was partially the reason why Lance loathed dealing with him. "I see a crest here, difficult to sell that is..."  
  
Lance bit his tongue.  
  
"The crest does not belong to the family we, ah, relieved them from." Hunk coughed politely. There was no telling whether Morvok was plain stupid and could not recognise the brand that every higher-up tried to get their grimy hands on or whether he was acting. "It's the Renynn logo Morvok."  
  
"I see I see." Morvok paused, nails tracing over the inscription for evidence of its authenticity. Lance hated him. "Two golden crowns each?"  
  
"No deal." Lance's smile was starting to feel painful. "You do realise that Renynn jewellers chose to close their business a couple of years down and these are worth at least five gold pieces per hm?"  
  
"Five gold pieces?" Morvok's incredulous laugh rang out over the street. "You must think me stupid boy."  
  
"Five." Hunk was a calm presence at his back. "No less."  
  
Playing this game for too often meant that if Morvok refused his offer Lance was allowed to go to a different vendor. He just hated playing the game in the first place. When he reached over to take back ownership of the first golden piece, Morvok's demeanour changed: His eyes grew huge and his hands possessively took hold of another bracelet, if only by the careless touch of two fingers upon the metal. "We might need to check for another vendor."  
  
"Four golden crowns."  
  
"Four golden crowns and fifty silvers."  
  
"Thirty-five silvers."  
  
"Deal."  
  
The gold was quickly snatched up by Lance as Morvok mimicked the action in regards to the jewellery pieces, albeit his face being significantly less cheerful than when he had greeted them. "Pleasure doing business."  
  
"Vrepit sa."  
  
Lance tipped against the side of his temple and Hunk politely bowed, as was custom. One never knew how many connections a Galra like Morvok had and both preferred to keep their limbs intact in case you offended one of them. Lance was a charmer, knew how to work around the criminal network like a mermaid might swim amongst Ciranne's many canals. Hunk, on the other hand, was patient enough to put up with most antics and his nervosity had been overcome through practice and constant encouragement on Lance's end.

Pidge had insulted a Galra the first time they took her here.

That was the last time she visited the Servant's Quarters.

### I.

The marketplace brought on a fresh breeze away from the heavy labourer's scent that had drifted all the way from the Servant's Quarters, down to the Upper Heights until they finally managed to lose it when Lance's feet stepped off the golden bridge.

It felt like home.

This is where Lance had grown up all those years ago, amongst travellers and merchants, lost in every inch of space that was crawling with people, bumped into every hued coat imaginable and the heavy scent of perfumes combined with food curling along his nose. It reminded him of family.  
  
If the Servant's Quarters had been an anthill, the marketplace was like the warm-bodied press of a massive dancing troupe. Even if Lance disliked the occasional jab of an elbow in the ribs.  
  
The marketplace lay at the heart of Ciranne and due to its exposure to both the heavy sun and its many patrons did the owners of the stands try to secure themselves under brightly coloured awnings, held up by black witchwood poles and fishwire lines that tangled at the bottom. It did nothing for the musky humid air, but helped to beat off the heat that crawled along the cobbled stones around midday.  
  
The spices drifted in from the Sanguine River surrounding them, barrages floating merrily up and down the waters with merchants cursing in three languages, whilst children played thievery right across from Lance.  
  
Part he recognised as the King's gang; the soft cries that intermingled with deafening howls that broke through the heavy throng of people in a bid for attention, whilst others quickly snatched up whatever they could find. Lance had long learned not to pay attention, could easily tell the less experienced from the seasoned warriors, knew which would go hungry, which would be rewarded, and who would hang by evening.  
  
It hurt his heart because not in his many years of being free of the clutches that robbed him of every hard-earned coin each night, had Lance ever stopped to consider the poor orphans of Ciranne.  
  
Not all of them were lucky.  
  
So when Lance passed the tiring repertoire of a lost child whilst others looked for weaknesses in his defence, did Lance press two silver coins into the hand that came in very close contact with his trousers.

Then, when the children had ran off, did he turn to Hunk. "Am I finally allowed my snail cream?"

Hunk laughed. "Sure thing buddy." The hand was warm on his shoulder and Hunk squeezed in reassurance. Neither of them had ever been able to forget what it was like to be an orphan, could still not shake off some memories at night when the bad crawled in with the good and made merry until morning. They awoke with sweat down their forehead and clammy fingers reaching out for warmth.

More often than not the name of _mother_ rang desperate between the walls.  
  
They never spoke about it.  
  
"What'd you want to buy?" Lance carelessly brushed over the newest cosmetics of a stall nearby. "I was thinking we did need some new cover-up, perhaps a red smudge of coal this time?"  
  
"Provisions." Hunk glanced over his shoulder. "Rope, ink, parchment, definitely need food -"

"Brought a knapsack?"

"Honestly Lance?"

He laughed. "Just saying! Last time we had to carry it all the way home because neither of us had the sense to bring one."

"And Pidge laughed at us for not thinking of buying one."

"I was demonstrating my muscle to the girl behind the counter."

"The last time I ever let you decide on our plans."

Lance quickly snatched an apple up from a passing girl, tossed her a copper piece, and handed it to Hunk. "Rude. So if you're picking up provisions, I'll stock up on some of our trade and get the moisturiser."

"Just keep in mind that Pidge is going to lecture you." Hunk gestured vaguely with the apple in hand.

"My face is the one that endures the most abuse and unless you _really_ want me to look like the Arl, both of you need to start appreciating it." Lance said.

Hunk left with a shake of his head and pointedly dragged the knapsack over his shoulder. Lance only laughed at him before the crowd swallowed him and Lance was left alone.

“So.” He turned to the girl behind the counter. “I’m talking business this time. Red coal, is it mineral-based?”

Although a picky and difficult customer, the girl bore teeth in her smile when she greeted him. “Lance.” She drawled, “You realise that I could send you off on your merry way with a fake story and a pretty smile?”

“Hannah.” Lance slid one hand across the counter where she drew hers back. _Ouch_. “I’ve been here for too long and too much of an expert to not come back.”

“So you admit you’d take the bait first.”

“You know my weakness for pretty ladies.”

She giggled. “They’re only partially mineral-based, the rest is something syrupy. It’s artificial.”

Lance clicked his tongue. “Don’t tell me it’s the same stuff that they put in the lip paints, took me ages to scrub that off.”

Hannah rummaged behind the counter and produced three different coal sticks for him to view on the counter. “The left one is _mostly_ mineral-based, but therefore the colour comes out coral and not as nicely red.” Lance traced her deft hands, simply nodding along. “The second one is partially mineral based, partially syrupy, leaves a nice colour that lasts for a long time. Finally the last one comes straight from the mines, possibly bad for the skin but no artificial colouring, lasts for long.”

Something caught Lance’s peripheral vision.

Red.

Red scarf wrapped around a lithe neck, trailing laces into the bottom of his blouse, and Lance looked up as he always did to meet eyes with a boy whom he despised with every fibre of his being.

Keith, as always, was oblivious.

“Helloooooo–“ A hand waved in front of his face. “Lance are you there?”

“Huh?” Keith was still nearby, and Lance refused to let the opportunity pass. What had Pidge been saying again? Careful, gentle, all that crap? Yeah fuck that. “I’ll take... Shit what were you saying again?”

Hannah pressed her hands into her sides and cocked her head. “I was saying you better buy three if you’re wasting my time like that.”

“Sure sure…” He rummaged through his pouch. “I’ll take two of the ones on the left, two of the ones in the middle. I want the snail cream everyone’s been raving about, and I’ll take some lavender oil.”  
  
“That’ll be two silver pieces and three copper bits please.”

Lance didn’t even bother asking her how much the snail cream was _exactly_ , they had plenty of money thanks to the Balbanise job. He pointedly did not ask for a receipt, did not bother counting the change as he threw it back into the pouch, he was in a hurry – Keith was moving to another stall.

What was he even doing here? To the best of Lance’s knowledge, Keith preferred to stay near the dockside. Keith never even bothered to show up near the Servant’s Quarters even though Lance was _certain_ that his source of income could only be about as legal as his own. The marketplace was an occasional habit of his as Pidge had deduced in her scarily accurate reports (how she got the information Lance was reluctant to ask). For him to show up today, it had to Blue smiling down on him.

Lance slunk back, casual lean to his body, carelessly dropping into the background behind Keith. It had been months since he had last seen Keith, yet he had still been in the presence of Shiro. Although it wasn’t out of the order to catch him alone, he seemed different. Maybe Shiro had simply gotten tired of him. Keith wasn't wearing his trademark jacket, a faux-pas show of their barely existing middle-class living, and seemed to go through most of the stalls in a hurry without purpose. His fingers skidded over items, not once questioning, just bearing down on vendors with hard eyes and lacking the courtesy of a smile.

He definitely did not feel like following Pidge's gentle approach, Keith was an asshole even to store clerks.

And then Lance noticed it; the dagger.

Familiar in design, deftly made, light in weight.

Keith had owned it most of his life.

Before he knew it he slid past Keith, finger knife in hand, slid across the back of those trousers and caught the knife before anyone even noticed him passing. Part of him wanted to brag, to laugh in Keith's face, but there was plenty of time for that later.

Now, he just needed to get home.

### II.

"You did _what_?!"

Lance winced, desperate to lock eyes with Hunk for support. Only Hunk wouldn't face him because the next thing that came out of Pidge's mouth was: "And where the _hell_ were you?!"

"I was out there buying supplies!" Hunk looked wounded. "As you know, Lance is old enough to take care of himself and -"

"Well clearly someone was supposed to watch him." Pidge threw up her hands and scattered the countless pieces of parchments she'd been holding. Both of them knew that they were filled with endless details on Shiro and Keith. "Why did you decide to toss out weeks of preparation Lance?"

Lance refused to feel bad about the situation as he tossed the dagger from hand to hand. "Well I stole his knife, so I guess Keith's not as good as he thought he was -"

"That's what this is about?" Just disbelief. "Besting Keith?"

"Well no, but it's a nice bonus isn't it?" Lance would not be robbed of the pride that warmed his chest. Keith had always bested him, at clutching, at running, at _stealing_ but Lance had always been the person to be good at the finer details, the dramatics, the _acting_. To finally turn Keith's knife over in his hands had him on a high that no drug in the city could replace.

"You are an idiot." Pidge gestured vaguely towards the outside. "Keith won't let this slide."

Lance scoffed. "He won't need to, he'll just need to agree to our terms to get it back that's all."

"And you _really_ feel confident that he will don't you? This is exactly why you don't make the plans Lance!"

"And why the hell not!"

"Because Keith is temperamental! Our chances of finding Shiro are next to _zero_ now. Our plans, our carefully constructed plans, are worth nothing." She rubbed her temples, sinking down into one of the chairs scattered by the fire. "I'm going to bet you two golden coins that he'll be looking for that knife already."

"So?"

"You seem to forget that Keith's already distraught over Shiro's disappearance but has managed to keep his cool so far. What do you suppose will happen if the dagger he's held onto since he was a child goes missing?"

"Well -"

"It might just be the one trigger he needs Lance!"

"How bad can it really be?"

Really bad, as it turned out. Not only did Keith effectively scare most of their clientele back into their pretty dainty homes up in Slaver's Bay, but business around the marketplace declined as Keith was _adamant_ on finding out who might hold a sliver of information. And he wasn't too picky on how to obtain said information either. Pidge had been right: That dagger might have been the final thread to hold him together. By the end of the day Lance had handed Pidge her two solid coins.

Keith did not solely question people about the dagger, Keith snagged people from within the darkest alleyways at ungodly hours of the night to ask about Shiro, Keith pulled inconspicuous bystanders into his little games, Keith simply lacked any of the control and finesse that they as a team had shared.

Until Lance had stolen his dagger and vilified it.

So after two days with most of their plans having effectively been killed into silence, Pidge snapped.

"How _bad_ can it really be –“

"Listen." Lance held up his hands. "I have an idea."

"Oh I'm _dying_ to know."

"I'll leave him a note."

"See this is exactly why I told you that you are not in charge of plans."

Lance ignored her. "I'll leave him a note with details on who stole it, and eventually lead him down for a private conversation."

Pidge only agreed to have a firm set of reasons behind her 'I told you so', smugly delivered to Lance at the earliest convenience. The only reason Hunk agreed was because he refused to get in the middle of an even bigger mess and because he instinctively knew that he would be able to bodily put himself in harm's way if need be.

Lance took to following Keith around and although he switched up his garb twice a day, he felt most confident in his ability to blend in. Keith had proven over the past few days that familiarity was only a trivial detail.

His first opportunity to sneak paper to fabric came when Keith had attempted to disappear into the busy crowds of the harbour and then snuck in through the back door of one of its many bars.

"Amateur," he muttered under his breath, "The lack of preparation."

The crowd only aided him in his quest and soon enough did Keith whirl around at the deliberate touch against his trousers.

The corners of Lance's mouth quirked as Keith scrambled to get to the note and saw his eyes quickly skim over the words that Lance had scribbled there in the morning.

_The Paladins managed to snatch your tiny toothpick Keith. In particular the handsome Blue one._

Keith's scowl deepened and Lance held his breath in anticipation -

"Who the fuck are the Paladins?"

Oh it was _on_ now.

### III.

As great as his mood had been, it soured quickly over the lack of _recognition_ and having no one speak up on his behalf in the seedy bar.

"He has no idea who we are." Lance later said to Hunk, as soon as he squeezed down on an empty stool beside him. This, unlike Keith's _peculiar_ tastes, could at least be described as a decent lodge.  
  
Counting three levels, each more expensive than the last, and a ground floor which sported four different kinds of ale, dishes ranging from minced pie to roast pork on request, and plenty of tables for gambling, the Thorny Tavern had the reputation of being on the richer side for small-time criminals. The three of them had discovered it years ago after a failed heist on Lance's end; bearing scars long after the bruises had faded. Its warmth had called them but it was the smell of food that had drawn them in.

It had only taken a few mugs of ale for the bruises to shift into the pleasant buzz of insignificance.

Hunk called for another meat pie. "Well that's expected."

"What do you mean expect-" One gesture and Lance lowered his voice. "Expected? I worked -"

"Lance."

" _We_ worked our asses off for the past six years, have gained recognition within the proper circles, been living comfortably -"

"And Keith doesn't know who we are." Hunk shrugged whilst shoving the pie Lance's way. "Big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal Hunk!" The angry clink of cutlery only perturbed the older woman next to him. "We did not work this hard –“

"To blow our cover right here?" Hunk levelled him with a stare. "Come on man."

Lance shifted in his seat, annoyed with his lack of self-control. "Where's Pidge?"

"She went to take a bath upstairs." Hunk couldn't suppress a smile. "Courtesy of your two golden coins."

 _'Six years huh?'_ Lance thought. That meant six years since leaving the King’s service, six years since being told he was worthless and not fit to be sold to any gang, six years since living on the streets and _surviving_. The Paladins had been a joke at first, an angry retaliation against a world that told them they were nothing but filth through pretty lips and polished laughter. Paladins were heroic, champions of faith, and that's exactly why Lance had taken it for a brand and ran with it. They stole, they cheated, they tricked.

But that had not been enough.

They all had to have a codename and they found it within the depths of their temple.

The goddesses it was dedicated to.

Ildyn, Hycis, Alea, Kyrael, Iyth.

The religion of Voltron was sacred, Pidge traced the relics back to over ten thousand years ago, and their temple was only a fraction of its followers' dedication. It still breathed within the city, people prayed to the goddess tied to their name day, the season they favoured, the one whose personality they were named for. Although each name described both their personalities and well-wishes, in today's world they could be translated back to five simple colours:

Black, Red, Blue, Green, and Yellow.

It would be heresy had anyone else been in on the secret.

Lance had picked Blue, Pidge had taken Green, and Hunk favoured Yellow. None of them had protested his decision.

"Took you long enough." Pidge squeezed in beside Lance, and immediately began helping herself to his pie under the half-hearted protests of the one currently eating it. "How'd it go?"

"Keith doesn't know who we are." Hunk supplied helpfully as Lance sulked and snatched his pie back.

"Unsurprising." Pidge said. "So what now?"

"What do you think? I'll leave him another note tomorrow."

And if Pidge exchanged a look with Hunk, Lance pretended not to notice.

The next two days were spent in equal measures: Lance got progressively agitated how nothing, absolutely _nothing_ seemed to ring a bell for a certain Keith Kogane, and likewise Keith was getting angrier with the childish bits of parchment found in increasingly stranger places with no one to blame for it.  
  
"I swear I can't help it that he's this dense!"

"Or maybe your methods are just lacking Lance."

By the end of the third day, both of them had had enough of each other.

_As you are as dense as a rock, I hereby cordially invite you to the Tela bathhouse, set on the corner of Slaver's Bay. Come Friday, early morning at 10am sharp, Blue will await you._

### IV.

Friday gave them two full days to prepare. Pidge arranged for the bath house to be available for their exclusive use, Hunk made sure the place was a safe-guard for any weaponry hidden within its walls, and Lance, for once in his life, had no falsehood to attach to his person.

It was refreshing to wear his own face for a change.

"Why a bathhouse again?" Pidge asked as she leaned against one of the wooden racks stacked between two of its prominent baths, a criss-cross pattern carved the image of a mermaid that appeared to be winking.

"I assumed that Keith would be less dangerous naked." Unlike Pidge, Lance was adorned only with a towel, which she pointedly ignored.

"And what if he's not?" She tested the water with her feet and delighted in the heat that crawled up her ankles; small pleasures.

"Then I'll step in."Came Hunk's voice from beside Lance, dressed inconspicuously, and soaking his feet beside him.

"What's our plan?" Pidge asked.

Hunk recited it effortlessly. "I will stand at the ready behind the marble pillar there." A flick towards the left. "In which I will be in close proximity to both the exit and to Lance. Should Keith exhibit any signs of making contact, in whichever way, I will anticipate and use force if necessary."

"Do you hold any weapons?" Pidge wriggled her toes, keeping her gaze level with Hunk.

"No." Hunk shook his head. "Anything too big would draw the attention of the city guard on the way out, and all Keith would be allowed would be nothing short of a dagger."

Lance twirled the weapon for dramatic effect. "Which I conveniently own right now."

"And what is your task Lance?"

"Not to use this on Keith." Lance groaned. "Not to provoke him but to invite 'open and pleasant conversation'."

"Even though?"

"Even though I broke his trust by stealing the dagger in the first place."

"I'm going to ignore the sarcasm in favour of keeping my faith in your abilities to _lie_ properly."

"Of course." The dagger clanked softly as it hit the tiles. "Just an error of judgement, that's all."

It was only seven in the morning now and all of them had long since learned to live with bruised purple imprinted beneath their eyes and a persistent yawn every so often. Still, showing up three hours prior was early even for them. The warm water that crawled up Lance's body certainly was not helping. In ways of explanation, all he had provided Pidge with had been a snippy "I bet Keith can't even tell time."

Lance leaned back with his elbows brushing over the carved edge, cocking his chin up _just_ so and meeting Pidge's raise of a brow with a grin. "How do I look?"

"Like an idiot." Pidge gestured to his arms and hopped into the middle of the pool, the water gently lapping at her shorts with the momentum. "What is this?"

"I want to look like I'm better than him but not risk hurting his fragile pride."

"Boy does that sound familiar."

Lance splashed water at her, causing Pidge to squeak and scramble out of there. " _Lance_!"

"Pidgeon." He cooed and sank deeper into the water until only his head faced above the ridge, closing his eyes and willing this moment into memory. It wasn't often that he got to relax while on the job, although he had forced their hand into it in the first place. Nothing but sheer evidence of its brilliance: how often did they get to rent out the Tela? Lance had only been in here _twice._ In recent months. He could already feel his skin begin to soften with the minerals that the water had been laced with.

Minutes ticked by, turned to hours, until finally Lance was snapped to attention about fifteen minutes to their appointed time.

Hunk had made the signal.

Keith had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for leaving kudos thus far! I'm glad to get this story rolling, and I really hope you enjoyed the second chapter! 
> 
> Please let me know any thoughts or comments, I'd love to know! If there's any critiques, throw them my way as well. 
> 
> In regards to this story I plan to update once a week so I can keep a consistent pace going.
> 
> Feel free to talk to me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/elynnae) or [ Tumblr!](http://elynnae.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a flashback in here that details some child abuse. If you feel in any way uncomfortable with that, please skip the last paragraph (after "Then eat you shall") under "I".

Keith had kept the blasted notes, crumpled and brushed over and read again before they inevitably ended up crushed in the back pocket of his trousers.

For the past few days had he changed tactics, had stopped questioning tavern folk and market goers about his dagger, and had started to uncover crucial information about these 'paladins'. Although it proved near-impossible to find information on the individuals within the group, Blue (as Keith had dubbed him) had been high on Keith's list of interest, the group had come up as an afterthought.

Not as famous as Blue had claimed in menial penmanship that betrayed his rocky upbringing, yet clearly not as obscure Keith had first assumed.

Sometimes the paladins signed off their little tricks with a name and a flourish, sometimes certain particulars were left unattributed but all revealed a learned trade that, illegal as it was, had taken time.

Most of the signatures were signed off with Blue, which left the size of the group up for speculation. It could be the two of them, could be five of them, or Blue could simply be working alone.

If he was, it would be a sign of his aptitude: No one had heard of these paladins three years ago.

Although Keith had been angry, could still feel it simmer beneath the surface and burst when provoked, there had also been a curiosity in learning their identity. And if Blue had been stupid enough to invite him, then he may as well take the invitation and throw it back in his face.

Keith wondered whether there would be others, asked himself whether Blue knew of Keith's present situation, knew whether Keith would come alone. Even if Shiro had still been there, and that thought simply tore at him, he would have operated on a solitary basis. There was no need to bring others in, no need to edge more worry lines into an otherwise youthful face.

Somehow he didn't think this Blue character would be the same.

"Disrobe..." Keith stepped into the dressing area, its walls embellished wood through which he could peer into the basins beyond, steam obscuring the rest. There was no way to tell how many were there, yet he discarded his clothes regardless.

He felt an itch of anticipation as he stepped out into the steam, body taut and feet planted firmly on the tiles.

Nothing came forward.

Keith kept his silence, two, three more steps forward until the steam slowly started to dissipate and the shadowy figure in a nearby pool became clearer.

"Took you long enough."

Short brown hair, cockiness shown in a casual droop of arms on marble, lips tilted into a smile. Everything was too casual, too familiar and Keith did nothing to hide his confusion.

"A kid?"

That false advertisement broke easily in a heavy splash of water. "You're the _same_ age!"

"I expected someone much...." His voice clipped at the end. " _Much_ bigger."

The guy snorted, and did not even bother to raise himself out of the water. Did he honestly expect Keith to join him? Did he want to talk shop over a brief cup of coffee within the heat of this place? "Sorry to disappoint you, the name's Lance."

Keith swore he could hear a thunk from nearby but forced himself to remain still.

"Lance." Keith affirmed, taking another step towards him. He didn't as much as move. "You're Blue?"

That seemed to provoke a response albeit not in the way that Keith expected: his posture shifted, arms slid back into the water and his back straightened out. "Leader of the Paladins, you're looking right at him."

"Oh." And it took him two more steps to yank Lance by the arm and haul him upright, face closely pressed and dark eyes clouded over. "So you're the one who stole my dagger."

Lance didn't even flinch. "Sit down. You're not going to wrench it out of my arm, and I have my reasons."

Another thunk. They were miserably failing in their attempt to remain obscure. There was no sign of his dagger anywhere, and although he was seething Keith felt weirdly cornered by the utter lack of concern. He refused to lower himself into the same waters, and simply stood hovering over Lance.

"Suit yourself." Lance dragged himself up the edge of the pool and looked straight ahead. "I needed collateral, and your dagger provided it to me."

"Collateral for what?" Keith hissed.

"Information on Shiro." And before Keith could deliver a swift kick to his head, Lance turned his body to face him. "We're not in it to harm him."

"And why the fuck should I believe that?" Keith snapped. Out of all possible scenarios he had never imagined that Shiro might be involved in any of this, ensnaring Keith in these little games to do him further harm, to gather information as if they both hadn't been through enough already. "You stole my dagger, had me run around Ciranne for your own amusement and call me out here naked!"

"Trust me your body's not that impressive." Lance apparently had gotten tired of sitting around and dragged himself up to face Keith at eye-level. "I needed you unarmed."

"It's none of your business."

"What do you know?"

" _Nothing._ " Frustration dripped off his face in the same way it had when being questioned by guards and townsfolk alike, hands curled into fists so that nails traced over the familiar moon-pattern in the skin after so many weeks of doubt. Shiro was gone and Keith had no way to fix it. "For someone coming close enough to shove notes down my pants, you sure know very little about my ways of operation."

"Pity." Lance said and retrieved Keith's dagger from behind a potted plant, studied it between his fingertips, before he threw it back at him. No change in the haughty disinterest, not once. Not when Keith caught the dagger, not when he traced familiar patterns on the handle, not even when the confusion showed on his face.

 _'That's it?'_ ' Every single bit of that aloof attitude flared his subdued anger to life. Two steps forward, an arm pulled back and the brief satisfaction of seeing Lance's face crack.

If he had expected Keith to take the dagger and go, he had miscalculated.

It was a brief victory. Three seconds in and his arm was twisted behind his back so firmly that Keith was forced to drop the dagger. Another forearm squeezed tight against his windpipe and his breath fluttered out in a wheeze. He could feel the towel shift lower to his hips in the scuffle and Keith struggled for some means of composure. It didn't work.

"Lance." A deep voice echoed behind his back. "This wasn't the plan."

Strong yet Keith could tell he was uncomfortable. It was obvious Keith couldn't take him on, not like this, and he gasped for breath. The guy loosened his grip by a smidgen.

Compassion. How nice to be able to afford it.

"What do you need the dagger for anyway? Weren't you done with the King's business?" Loud, hands on his hips, the pretty picture of resentment. It was the last bit that rang familiar to him, memories that he had buried, done away with.

And suddenly, it came back to him.

"Oh I remember you." Another precious bit of oxygen came back to him when the arm crushing his windpipe relented.

"Of _course_ you remember me." The cockiness seems different somehow, warped in the way his grin changed. It was less cocky than assured somehow. Was he relieved?

"You were that kid that cried, first night you came down."

Because Keith remembered the broken sobs before anything else, that one night every orphan remembers. The night when you realised that there no one who was coming to help you, that you were left to your own devices, that in the dark pit of an orphan's home not even the morning light could penetrate the loss of having lost your family.

Twelve years ago Lance had been a boy of seven. He had not known when to stop crying, had not taken the hint in King's lower growl and raised arm, had not been consoled by countless of annoyed whispers by the older children. But Keith had been eight, grown up on these streets before the King had snatched him away, had lost his parents in both life and memory. Keith had sat in front of the other boy, wiped tears off ruddy cheeks, let him blow his nose in a handkerchief that was tattered but clean, and had pat his back for comfort.

And Lance had quietened down and offered his name.

_"My name's Lance. What's yours?"_

_"Keith."_

Nothing remained of that tentative smile and the brightest set of eyes. Keith could not find any of his cautious comfort either.

Lance stared at him with an expression that begged further argument but only his mouth quirked. "I was seven."

"And I was eight."

"Let him go Hunk." Lance said. "Boy can't even afford a replacement for that kiddie knife."

An unexpected break in pressure and Keith was free. He snatched the discarded dagger off the ground and proceeded to thrust it forward mockingly. "Wanna see how much of a kiddie knife it is?"

The guy behind him bodily put himself between the both of them; broad with arms in the image of the marble pillars behind them, clothed unlike either of them. A cue for Keith to hoist up the fabric around his hipbones. Dark-skinned, possibly Cirannean, possibly further down south. "Alright that's enough."

Lance said nothing, had hooked his thumbs into the white of his towel while staring intently at Keith. No doubt that he had more to say but he was silenced with one look from his acquaintance. Surely, he would be leading this troupe? Keith couldn't imagine Lance ruling over them. Though, granted, Keith knew precious little of Lance at all and what he knowledge he had annoyed him.

"We share a goal." Hunk started, briefly letting his eyes pause on Lance before looking at him. "Both of us want to find Shiro."

"I'll find Shiro on my own." Keith said.

"We have resources Keith." Hunk's voice was a gentle persuasion. "Shiro can't be found easily and you need all the help you can get."

"I'll find Shiro _on my own_."

Hunk simply held up his hands and stepped back, allowing Keith the space to do the same. "Should you change your mind, our offer remains open."

"And we'd appreciate it if you didn't go blabbing our identity to others." Came another voice and Keith whirled around to face its owner: A younger girl that Keith pegged to be in her teens, though the grim expression she wore rivalled Lance and Hunk in age. "I have my resources to find out if you have."

"Is that a threat?" Keith countered and tightened his hand around the handle of the dagger.

"It's whatever you believe it to be." The girl continued. "I'm sadly not in the business of disclosing our identity to the public and will manage damage control in whichever way is available to me."

"Then why reveal yourself here?"

"See it as a token of my faith." The way she grinned sent a weird chill down Keith's spine. "Like Hunk, I am all too willing to extend a hand in friendship, but no harm done should you refuse."

"Unless...?"

"Unless you harm our current trend of operations." She took a few steps forward, unperturbed by the knife held in hand though both Lance and Hunk visibly tensed. "Name's Pidge, and while you have my apologies on Lance's behalf, I regret to inform you that I know Shiro's the only person you're in close contact with, and I am familiar with the dockside of town."

She knew where he lived.

"Just so we understand each other."

Keith slowly nodded. "We understand each other fine."

"Good."

She darted across one of the pools to pick up bits of equipment, strange wires running across white marble and several blankets in a range of colours. Keith did not ask. "Our business ends here then."

Neither Hunk nor Lance added anything, although Lance seemed to hold Keith's gaze for as long as he remained in the room. Keith returned it with equal heat, before he soundlessly retreated back into the dressing rooms.

Only ten minutes passed before he was out into the street again.

### I.

Before any orphan became truly desolate within the city’s streets, there was usually what its inhabitants referred to as a trial period. The ages of orphans particularly ranged from five to ten years old. Anyone older would die from whichever disease that had taken their parents, anyone younger would not survive for long.

Soon these orphans would realise that other than the parents that were cruel enough to leave them at such a tender age, there was no one else to care. Some orphans still died within a week, either too clumsy or unable to fend for food, some orphans were taken by slavers, and others merely disappeared into workhouses.

Mourning, despair, and anger would follow.

And then there were the exceptions: the orphans who had either been mistreated by their relatives or the ones who had been born without them. Keith was one of the latter. He had lived on the streets of Ciranne long before any other seven-year-old, long before the King had taken notice of him.

After an orphan went unclaimed, by death or slavers or otherwise, the King stepped in.

The King was not a king at all, it was a self-proclaimed title, a wispy effort of grandeur. He picked up orphans as he went, bought half, cast away another until he finally put together the perfect little army of thieves. His name was Sendak, although any child should take care to remember to never speak it out loud. Never dream, never speak, never whisper amongst yourselves as Sendak had a knack for cruelty.

Keith had learned that pretty early on. But Keith had never been one to listen.

"Rat." Sendak's greeting came cold as Keith was shoved in front of him. A small light of anger danced in his eyes and there was a refusal to quench his own, even if Sendak's eyes narrowed at a show of defiance.

"I told you to do one simple job for me." Loud steps, grand steps, Sendak stood next to him but never crouched to his level. "Distract so that your fellow birds could snatch whatever they could get their hands on."

"I _distracted_." Keith managed with all the might that a seven-year-old child could muster.

"You _stole._ " Sendak snapped and pulled him up roughly by the arm. Keith flinched.

"I did what you asked me to do!" Another rough pull and several jewels skittered across the floor. Keith was brave, but not brave enough to look into the furious glint of hateful eyes. His arm had begun to bruise.

"You stole when no seven-year-old is allowed to steal." Sendak shoved him and Keith held his ground, resisting the urge to rub his arm. "I asked you to distract, not to provide an entertainment for the rest to follow."

"I am better than them."

"You are _nothing_."

Keith bit his lip, arm throbbing now that Sendak had dug his meaty fingers into it. As if there hadn't been enough smears of purple beneath his eyes, the yellow on his shins, the blue adorning both knees.

There was nothing easy about working beneath the king, but Keith had been here for only a few moons and yet defied. Keith was better, stronger, quicker. Had been on the streets before, knew the sideways and shortcuts, knew the perfume of the rich, knew where food would expire the quickest.

But Sendak delegated him tasks that got him neither food nor experience. And they all knew that only the thieves got the most to eat.

Keith went to bed hungry often.

"I wanted to eat." It was a quiet admission that he would come to regret as Sendak tilted his chin up and met his gaze. Keith held it for a total of two seconds before looking away from the disgust he found in there.

"Then eat you shall."

It had been twenty minutes, give or take, younger teens at his side that grabbed his arms and held him down as Sendak leaned over him. Porridge shoved down his throat until he coughed and sputtered, bread that he could barely chew on and blocks of cheese that were too big for his mouth. He coughed and spat and struggled as Sendak only looked on. While some children laughed, others remained horrified, more remained silent. And after it was done and Keith had heaved it all up, face red and snot running down his chin, did Sendak finally speak.

"Obey."

Keith, clutching his stomach in the dead of night, thought about the words long and hard when sleep wouldn't take him.

He did not obey.

### II.

Years down the line, Keith found himself confronted by the same King that he had left all that long ago. Sendak was a distant memory, a vague speck in the whirlwind of Keith's life. Of course, that was until Shiro had disappeared.

Sendak, it seemed, had not forgotten.

"Kogane." It was at the harbour, wind blowing rows through Keith's hair, and enjoying a crowd at his back. Even years down the line, years in which Keith's growth spurt had caught up to him, did not change Sendak's imposing figure.

"Sendak." Keith stared, muscles straining under tension at the sound of a name long-forgotten. Only he would claim rights to it, only he would remember. "Why are you here?"

Sendak's lips curled into a snarl. "Seems like you still cannot show me any respect."

"You never deserved any." And he stepped out of the way when Sendak's temper flared, a brush of air against his skin. Keith didn't flinch this time.

"You cost me a pretty penny when you ran away."

"Heh." Keith jutted his chin upwards, a smirk tugging at his lips. "That's what happens with abused kids, they eventually get sick of your shit and leave."

"But you aren't a kid anymore are you Kogane?" Sendak took a step closer. It seemed insignificant when there was a throng of people pressing close but Keith knew what that meant. And he refused to step back. He had never been good at self-preservation. He suppressed the natural instinct to run, the instinct to survive. Shiro wasn't here to stop him and all his petty impulses reigned free.

Keith hated him. He hated the way he could still feel the stiffness in his shoulders and the way his stomach tightened. But it was a weakness he would not permit himself.

"I have always wondered whether you could take on anyone your size."

When Hunk ran into the hideout, all flushed cheeks and windblown hair, Lance had immediately jumped up in alarm. He didn't appear to be hurt but took a few moments to breathe before he finally gasped out:

"Sendak's challenging Keith."

Lance opened his mouth.

"And Keith's challenged him back."

Lance struggled to feign indifference. "And why are you telling me?"

Hunk fixed him with a stare. Both of them knew that challenging Sendak was a death sentence: Keith could end up maimed or worse. "Lance. We have to get him out of there."

"And he'll owe you." Pidge chipped in. "He'll have to join forces after you save his ass."

Lance's interest was piqued but he huffed regardless. "I guess I'll have to play the hero then."

Pidge chuckled whilst Hunk started rummaging through their chests for an outfit to throw Sendak off his game until Lance gently pushed him to the side to leave it to defter hands. There wasn't a lot of time. If Keith had been stupid enough to engage Sendak in a fight there was nothing anyone could do. The idiot deserved his stupid nickname, any sensible person would have gone to the constables.

Unless Keith had a proper reason not to go.

It didn't matter now.

Time was running out.

An adrenaline rush. That's what it was. The heavy thrum of blood pumping through his body when Hunk's words, in hushed whispers with a panicked undertone, barely registered above the noise. Lance wasn't the type of person to admit that he was scared, at least not when he legitimately felt it. It was acceptable in mockery, played up in dramatics, but now that his throat clogged up and his heart stammered loudly, it had become an impossibility.

Lance had good cause to be afraid.

Dressing up as a Galra carried the risk of certain death.

"Anything to save the princess." He murmured under his breath.

Houses blurred past and though Lance ran often, and Lance ran quick, the distance between their hideout and the marketplace was substantial. He was wheezing by the time he traversed to its edges and took precious seconds to get his breath back. A Galra did not run. A Galra was dignified, had a soldier's lean, and a king's arrogance.

Already Lance noted the distance other people left between him and themselves.

It was too late now.

"Hunk." Lance hissed to his side. "Where are they?"

"The square."

He cursed. They'd have an audience then. "Better make this worth his while."

They didn't have a plan this time. Just enough for Hunk to stay out of the way of Sendak and letting Lance work out the kinks, praying to Blue that he'd pull through. He had faith in his abilities, true, but his footsteps were heavy and the beat of his heart increased tenfold when he approached Sendak. Keith had already drawn that shitty dagger of his.

"Hey." Heavy voice, controlled, lazy.

Sendak did not turn straightaway although he had drawn Keith's attention. There was no recognition on his face.

Maybe it wasn't doomed to fail after all.

"I said hey." Less pleasant now. Sendak finally turned and although his expression gave nothing away, his body did no longer advance towards Keith. Lance withstood the calculative gaze that roamed over his uniform, stolen from a high-ranking officer that had gotten involved in an accident years ago, and thank the goddesses that the Galra were too stupid to update them. It was difficult seeing Sendak. There was always a certain _fear_ that he refused to give into right now. "Did Prorok give you permission for this engagement?"

Lance had always remembered the lackeys that Sendak had taken orders from back when he was an orphan and that information served him well now. There was a shift in Sendak's posture: His attention was no longer divided but fully focused on Lance.

"No."

He smirked. "Then might I ask what this provocation is for?"

"Personal business." Sendak answered curtly.

"Since when do you act outside of our orders Sendak?" He had to keep up the façade long enough to keep Sendak from asking for his name. Lance hadn't come up with one, and certainly hadn't had the time to go through the tabs they kept on the Galra. Fucking _Keith_. "Personal business is not in the interest of the Galra."

Sendak bared his teeth in frustration and Lance took his silence as the opportunity to continue. "Prorok needs you, and this scrawny kid certainly doesn't. Or did one of your orphans run away again?" Lance threw a disinterested look at Keith.

That hit home. Sendak's expression was murderous but he backed off with slow steps, one fist clenched at his side. "I'll go see to Prorok's needs."

"Do hurry," Lance drawled. "You were always quite slow on the uptake."

Sendak brushed past him close enough for Lance to feel him push against his uniform. He panicked whether his arrogance had gone too far but before he could even think on it, Sendak marched onwards without even a glance back.

God fucking bless.

They still had an audience, he noted, but there was suddenly so much he could get done with a raised eyebrow and a disdainful sneer that they quickly scattered.

Only Keith was left and he seemed about as angry as Sendak. Was it the careless dismissal? The passing comment about a fleeing orphan?

 _Typical_.

"You." Lance had to get Keith to come. "Follow me."

"Why the _hell_ should I." Absolutely classic down to the hunched shoulders and crossed arms. If this had been a Galra official, Keith would've been dead by nightfall. And yet here they were. "I've got no business with you."

"You've got business with Blue alright."

He took great pride in watching Keith's expression morph from angry, to confused, to utterly flabbergasted in the span of seconds. All it took was for Lance's grin to tilt for the anger to briefly appear again. Of course, Keith had never _seen_ Lance work before, and there was a glowing pride warming his chest for their work. He'd pulled it off, Sendak was gone and Keith, Pidge, and Hunk were the only ones to witness it. This was one for the books.

"I said to follow me Kogane, no funny business or I'll have my associates deal with you."

Keith nodded stiffly and Lance walked quickly as people parted the way in front of him. They didn't have long. As soon as Sendak would show at the Galra headquarters and discover that there was no urgent business, he'd be here quicker than Keith's petty anger. And Lance preferred not to die.

### III.

Once they were in safer quarters, he started to regret ever saving Keith at all.

"What on earth did you do?" Keith's voice from behind him never failed to make Lance roll his eyes into the heavens and pray for some well-needed restraint.

"I made Sendak take a hike."

"Yes but then he'll come back and _murder_ you."

Lance turned around, waved a hand in front of his face and he cocked his chin up. "Look at me."

"I am."

Lance refrained from commenting. "Do I look like me?"

" _I_ look like me." Keith crossed his arms.

"Yes." _Patience yields focus_. "You do."

Keith was having none of the short answers, the stiffness in his neck visible. "If Sendak goes to the Galra and finds out that there were no orders -"

"Then I doubt he'll tell them because he was made a fool of. No one in the Galra told him to take you back, he acted on his own orders." Lance rubbed his temples, feeling as though he were explaining this to a child. "By the time he figures it out, you'll be with us. The only reason he acted was because you were alone Keith."

Keith opened his mouth, took a moment to reconsider, and thought better of it. He had nothing and the thought of it made Lance grin.

"You're a lot smarter than before." He finally said.

"The last time you talked to me I was nine years old Keith." Lance snorted, "If you're basing your opinion of me on a child, you're worse at this than I thought."

"I met you before and you didn't seem this..."

"This _what_."

"Calculative."

"Lance is a lot more intelligent than you give him credit for." Came Pidge's voice from the side. "He's an incredibly quick thinker, and has gotten us out of pretty hairy situations before."

"I thought that you and the big guy were in charge of plans." Keith gestured vaguely into the direction of where he thought Hunk would be hiding. Pidge briefly followed his direction and decided that Keith Kogane was terrible at espionage and conning. What a pity.

"We are, but we're thinking longterm." She rose an eyebrow. "Lance is great at short-term solutions when everything goes tits up."

"Language."

"Fuck off Lance."

Keith looked around, took in the low ceilings and the furnace crackling, the rows of books stacked along the walls, the papers sprawled on the floor. Finally he set his gaze on Lance again. "Why me?"

"Excuse me?" Lance had expected questions on the temple, although Keith had never struck him as the religious type.

"Why did you do that for me?"

"You know," he bristled. "Some thanks would be nice."

"Thank you." It didn't seem insincere although it appeared to take some effort.

"Well." Lance deflated. "That's a start."

"So why...?"

Hunk gently stepped through the arched doors and he cheerfully saluted Keith before sitting down on another pillow, clearly at ease with his presence here. "I saw what was happening and I told Lance."

"Oh." Keith settled against the wall, not quite comfortable to rest on the floor like Pidge and Hunk were, not nearly as comfortable to take a seat near Lance. "Thanks."

"It's no problem." Hunk said before he winced at Lance's getup. "Can you please change? That Galra gear has freaked me out long enough."

"Yeah yeah..." Lance started opening up his jacket and looked at Keith dead-on. "Do you mind?"

A grin pulled at Keith's lips. "Not particularly."

_Oh._

Lance chose to ignore the flutter in his stomach, _since when can Keith flirt?_ , and rose to the challenge by tossing off every bit of clothing whilst Pidge whistled in the corner. The coat hit her in the face as thanks. Keith refused to back down from that challenge either and he kept looking at Lance and feigning disinterest.

"So Keith," Pidge said, breaking up the staring contest. "You owe us now."

"I owe you?"

"You certainly repeat a lot of phrases." She cocked her head, same sharp grin in place. "Are you a parrot?"

"What?" Keith recovered quickly. "Of course not, I'm just.... This is all pretty new to me after _he,_ " a pointed glare in Lance's direction, "Stole my property and now appears to have saved me from Sendak."

"Why didn't you just go to the constables?"

"I can't." He said and he finally seemed to recline and take up a seat. "There's no way I can go to the constables."

"I see." Pidge said. "In due time I expect an answer for that but for now you're in our debt. Our offer still stands."

Keith stared. "And what happens should I refuse said offer?"

Pidge simply smiled and Keith was eerily reminded of that shiver down his spine back at the bathhouse. "You'll find yourself facing Sendak and a horde of Galra because you're prey to them alone. You're protected within a group."

"And you'll help me find Shiro?" A hand landed on his shoulder and Keith started when he stared back into Lance's eyes, face half-way done with makeup and an ever persistent smile in place.

"Course we do! That guy's my hero!"

Hunk nodded in agreement and Pidge finally threw Keith a genuine smile.

"Welcome to the team Red."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed an increase in the amount of bookmarks and that really made my day, as did the comment.  
> Apologies for the delay, work has been a bit crazy but I'll try and keep updating to the two week maximum. 
> 
> Finally there will be some more Keith and Lance interaction! And of course, the search for Shiro continues.   
> Please consider commenting as I'd love to know what you guys think. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed chapter 3!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one this time! So you are warned.

There had been a time when Lance had admired Keith. Once in the brief flashes of the past when all a young boy had was the progression of his peers, even if Keith had barely been a year older than him. Keith had been praised by Sendak, spurned into action with only a few pretty words, but even then Lance had seen the loathing on his face. Whatever his feelings on Sendak were however, it was obvious that Keith had enjoyed the thrill of the hunt.

Lance had watched him, once. Until once turned into twice and had earned him sharp apprehension from Sendak when it had turned into a weekly affair.

He still carried the scar on his hip as a result.

The scams their group usually pulled were simple enough. They ranged from petty thefts to information brokering (Pidge’s specialty) to confidence tricks that occasionally took weeks to build. Tourists were a weak target and Lance always made sure not to target refugees looking to build a new life in the city. It was easy to tell them apart: Refugees were all too eager to buy into the lies that Lance was selling them.

What didn’t spark Lance’s guilt was the fact that he often conned women. For two reasons mainly: One couldn’t afford women a ticket to charity, and Lance had personally experienced the cruelty of women by their own delicate hands.

Although did not have any concerns with the gender of their target, he certainly decided to protest everything else. Lance’s irritation grew with each stubborn argument that was offered to him under the guise of ‘safety’ (since when had Keith _ever_ cared about being safe?). In the end Lance had instructed him to be pleasant and courteous but saying little. The emphasis laying heavily on _little_.

They sniffed out their targets around the afternoon, when most of the richer clientele had woken up to take their dainty little shits above the ivory chamber pots, or so that is how Lance imagined the _rich_ starting their day. Keith’s mouth quirked at it though, and Lance considered it a sign of victory.

Keith briefly touched upon the arm of a woman whose perfume penetrated the dainty little street about a hundred feet south from the market square; Lance had already scooped out the fancier inns in ages past.

“Excuse me.” She huffed, her skirts flashing colours as she whirled around. Then her eyes settled upon the navy wool of Keith’s coat and Keith offered a smile in turn.

“It seems like you were lost.” Came Lance’s voice from her other side. He could pinpoint the moment her suspicion turned into genuine curiosity by the way she leaned into Keith’s warmth. Frankly she was dressed far more sensibly for the weather in her silks, but rich bastards had to show off the fanciest cuts of the season. This year it simply had to be wool. “We had simply come to offer our guidance.”

He quickly found the friend that hurried to their side, hands clasping clothed ones; when did the rich ever decide to show their hands?

“Oh Anna, I thought I had lost you.” A quick glance into their direction. Appreciative. _Naïve_.

She would come willingly.

“Not to worry Sybilla.” She said as Keith let go of her. “These local gentlemen found me.”

“Oh and here I thought…” Sybilla kept the proper distance required of the upperclass, but only barely.

“That Ciranne only contained foul men?” Lance laughed. “Please let me introduce myself: Issaac Umeran, but feel free to call me Isa.”

Keith snorted. Lance elbowed him, _subtly._

At the hiss from Keith’s side it turned out that subtly did not always mean gently.

“Oh it is certainly pleasant to make your acquaintance.” Anna’s eyes roamed over Keith and a brief smile flashed on her face. “My name is Annalotte Rees, but Anna is fine. My friend is Sybilla Patel.”

“Sybilla will do.”

The three of them shared a laugh before Keith finally scraped his throat. “No need for fancy introductions.” Another elbow in his side, less subtle now. “Zachary.”

“So what are the two of you seeking out here in Ciranne?” Although he knew, Lance forced the question out anyway under the guise of politeness. “And where are you from?”

“Auronin.” Sybilla chimed in before her friend had a chance to speak. “We’re simply here to take up the pleasure part of our families’ business trip.”

_Spoiled little rich girls were the best._

“Sybilla!”

“Oh Anna _please_ , we both know it shan’t be our blabbing that will undo them.”

_You never know darling Sybilla._

“Surely not.” Keith dryly commented. “Or the object of your virtue would be a matter of public debate right now.”

Lance gaped.

“Surely you’re not…” One of them shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh.” Keith seemed to realise that she hadn’t meant the pleasure part _literally_. How was he supposed to know? There were plenty of them who seemed to take part in it. “No of course not. Merely speaking of the nature of gossip in the city.”

“Of course.”

Lance knew two things at that point. One; the game was ruined and two; Keith was not the prodigy that Lance had once idolised him for.

### I.

"Keith, you're supposed to distract them with pretty words, not imply whether they would have _sex with you_."

Keith, who had managed to look vaguely sheepish after the ordeal was said and done, groaned. "I wasn't trying to imply that at all!"

"Then what on earth was that comment for?!"

"I was trying to take part in the conversation!"

"This is exactly why I told you to say as little as possible."

Lance sank down into one of the chairs amongst the back walls of the Thorny Tavern. It would take a while before Pidge would return from the teahouse where they had planned to take them. The house was rented and Pidge’s second domain after their home in the Old District. They’d pay extortionate rates after taking them there, where their guests would only be forced to follow. (“Custom of Ciranne you see, surely you can afford it?”). That is, if Keith hadn’t blown the operation out of the water.

Hunk gave Keith a sympathetic smile. "You'll get the hang of it soon, I'm sure."

"If I'd known he was such a terrible asset to the team I would've reconsidered."

"You're a terrible asshat." Keith retorted.

"Don't take it too hard sweetheart, we can't all be as charming as me."

"I'm devastated." Keith blew him a kiss in response. Frankly, in spite of Keith's glaringly obvious shortcomings, it was good having someone around who rose to the bait so often. Hunk and he had a friendship that had lasted through poverty, starvation, and puberty both. Hunk was too kind to even bother with trying. And there was no feasible way one could outdo Pidge after she had grown past the age of ten. Old tricks never seemed to work properly and backfired almost instantaneously, or until she had found suitable retaliation for later.

Keith however - "Of course you are, when you're presented with the perfect image."

The responding grin was all pretty teeth presented in a gorgeous smile. "Oh I'm seeing that alright."

Sometimes, this made Lance falter. "Should've saved that particular smile for _‘Sybilla will do’_."

"Aw and here I thought I'd keep it reserved for special occasions."

Hunk coughed discreetly. "So Keith." Keith turned away from him long enough for Lance to notice the mullet that was growing at the back of his neck. Ouch. People were murdered for less. "What'd you need help with?"

"Well obviously I can't be as charming as Lance." Lance squawked. "But I'm a good brawler, still manage to steal without getting hung, and perfect at provoking."

"Yeah let's not go with provoking." Hunk pushed a plate of warm chicken towards him. "How's your acting?"

"Terrible."

"Your ability to come up with ideas real fast."

"Equally bad."

"Fashion sense?"

"Hunk the guy's got a mullet."

"I _what_?"

"Mullets can be, uh, very fashionable."

"Don't try to downplay the crime Hunk."

Lance waved down a waitress and gently touched the side of her wrist, pressing a coin into the delicate palm and -

"You going to slap her ass as she walks off too?" It didn’t even take turning around to know who the ire belonged to.

"He can try all he wants, but he'd lose every last digit." The girl turned, one perfectly manicured fingernail tapping against the side of her hip. "You're new here, courtesy demands you introduce yourself."

Keith's impasse broke. "I don't work here."

"And I do." Legs like pillars, long and slender in ivory and Keith could tell the strength beneath. She had blonde hair strung up high in a ponytail, her eyes windows of violet. Beyond the careless smile was the air of someone who'd snag you up and leave you penniless when you inevitably ended up being lost within them. "So pay a girl some courtesy."

She could not be a waitress. Keith refused to believe it. There were the tell-tale signs of a life spent away from the law, the worn bruises on otherwise delicate hands, the way her foot caught in a limp in the few steps taken. Although Keith was not neither fashionable not charming, he was observant. When you stepped foot into the harbour at night, with the gentle sounds of water lapping on shore, and eyes peering at you from within the brothels – you simply had to be.

Drowning was not an option.

"Keith." He offered.

"Nyma." She shot back. "Any particular reason why you decided to join this.... little gang?"

Keith quickly exchanged a look with Hunk, who simply shrugged in a 'no idea what she's talking about' way. It seemed like Nyma hadn't caught onto the nature of their gang. Not just yet anyway.

"Well you know, there's...." Keith seemed at war with himself. "...Good.... Company. I mean Hunk and Pidge are alright."

"And Lance?"

"Oh. Well he's..." He made an effort to squint into his general direction. "He's something."

Lance' temper flared. "Something that managed to save your ass so best keep your mouth shut."

"Something that needed me in the first place."

"For Shiro!" Lance blurted out. Keith's expression soured over and no further comments were forthcoming. Nyma, on the other hand, seemed intrigued and took place in a seat opposite Hunk.

"Shiro?" She muttered. "He's been missing for a while now Lance. Are you still holding out hope that - ?"

"Oh shut it." That impasse didn’t last long. Keith pressed his hands into the sides of his chair, fingers digging into the wood. "Stop talking about Shiro as if he's dead - how on earth would _you_ know him anyway?"

Nyma huffed but made no attempt to move, waved away enquiries from patrons around them with just one look. She didn't break eye contact with Keith. "Who knows baby, maybe I've grown intimate with him over the course of a few months."

Keith's anger was only stopped short by Hunk’s hand on his arm. Unlike Lance, he did not seem too enamoured with Nyma. "She likes to tease Keith." He managed in a tone that implied that teasing was not at all the case here. "Regardless, if you know anything you'd tell us wouldn't you Nyma?"

"Of course." Somehow her smile assured Keith even less, the way she gazed unsettled him - maybe there was a way she had seen Shiro. The paranoia managed to only amplify the anger that was churning inside the pit of his stomach, in spite of Hunk's hand that hadn't left his arm. Perhaps he sensed it. The brief silence was broken when someone gently bumped Nyma's chair out of the way and Keith saw a familiar brown mop of hair appear in their midst.

Pidge was carrying several bags and dumped them on the table before them, turning to Nyma. "Could you get us four ale?"

"Pidge!" Lance squawked, relieved at the break in the awkward tension in spite of the tone he was putting on. "You're barely sixteen!"

She ignored him and pressed the appropriate coins into Nyma's outstretched hand. "Quickly if you could, I've got a headache coming up."

Nyma considered for a moment and got up without a word.

"Sure." She said lightly. "See ya around Lance."

"Wouldn't a headache only make things worse?" Hunk inquired and Pidge shrugged in response.

"The headache I can't fix." She tapped the side of her head. "But I can definitely improve the mood by drinking."

Pidge, as a general rule, didn't drink much. Frankly her height and her body didn't allow her to, nor did she feel all too interested in the notion generally. It was much more profitable, fun, and generally hilarious to stay conscious when Hunk and Lance managed to hitch rides by singing to equally drunk off-duty guards. She managed to prevent Lance from sleeping with them and Hunk inviting them to another round besides by whining that she needed to get home safe.

Nevermind the fact that they were both useless intoxicated.

On other occasions Pidge felt the need to pour ale down her throat before some particular plans. Now was that time.

Keith eyed the ale that was brought before them, a whisk of Nyma's hair just inches away from his face when she turned, and wondered whether she had poisoned it by chance.

"How'd it go anyway?" Pidge nursed her own drink between her hands.

"Keith scared him off." Lance paused. "Actually Keith scared all of them off."

"That's good." Pidge nodded to herself before downing a quarter of her glass.

"Good?" Keith repeated. "I was chewed out by Lance for a good fifteen minutes and you're telling me it's good that I scared them?"

"Yes." Pidge grinned at him above the rim of her glass. "That means you're perfect for tonight's role."

"Which is?"

"Lance gets to play Ella." Lance didn't as much as blink. "And you'll be playing his jealous boyfriend."

"Ella?"

"You'll see."

Pidge waved for another beer and gestured for the seats to knit closer together so she could quickly go through their evening’s plans. A simple party at a low-ranking baron's house. The baron in question has ties with the Galra, whom Pidge suspected might have some info on Shiro. He was low enough in rank not to attract any kind of unwanted attention but high enough for the Galra to want to associate with his kind.

He also had a preference for gorgeous women with 'rich skin'. Pidge gagged as soon as the words left her lips.

"He also prefers it when they're already taken. And I can't exactly leave Lance alone with him." While Pidge had never worried over Lance, knew him to be quick on his feet, there was a certain fragility to him. She and Hunk had never forgotten the sacrifices Lance had been forced to make in the early years of desperation; bordering on starvation and teetering on the brink of death.

Neither had she forgotten the kindness that had been extended to her when she had only been five years old, by a boy with dusted freckles along his body, and a smile that had always been too bright for Sendak's establishment.

Pidge needed Lance safe. "So I thought it best if you could stand at the ready."

She didn't say 'protect him'. She didn't need to.

### II.

When Keith finally felt the pleasant buzz of alcohol drowning most of his instincts (save insulting Lance, which was a given), did Pidge finally tell him what to do once they had gotten back. The plan was simple: Lance would dress up as Ellaria, a personal favourite of Lance’s female alter egos, and then use Keith for target practice for a husband. Keith would need to be polished, which meant that no one had to worry about him having to look _different_ on top of that. (Keith had taken only minor offence at the notion as Pidge snorted in the background.)

Lousy didn’t even begin describing the level of acting that Keith was capable of but he had earned Pidge’s timid trust in being able to scare any prying hands away from Lance. The baron was from what one would expect from the barest graces of the upper crust: He had a tendency towards violence when wandering hands upon slender waists were not appreciated. He wasn't particular in his choice for women although he showed some restraint when it came to the usual shit of titles and the attachment of a well-endowed penis.

It astonished Keith, who had mostly lived on the streets by stealing and brawling, to know that this was a world ripe for exploiting if only you were daring enough.

"Doesn't this bother you?" Keith asked, alcohol loosening his tongue, as he watched Lance toss off the dress-shirt and eye his wardrobe critically. Keith duly noted the slender waist and counted vertebrae on his back like marbles upon a pathway. It came as no surprise that he liked it, wanting to count his fingers among the marred skin where he could trail the harsher instances in Lance's life.

There was a begrudged respect there. Although Keith could still not put the dagger situation out of his mind, he was getting closer to getting there.

"What should bother me?" Lance tossed on a corset and Pidge wordlessly reached down for the laces and snagged them tighter around the skin. Lance sucked in a breath.

"Dressing up as a woman."

"Why should it?"

"Well...." Keith couldn't find an immediate answer to that. "You like women right?"

"Yes."

"But would you... You kind of... You seem like the type who wants to woo them, doesn't this embarrass you?"

"No." Lance turned and settled Keith with a stare that was undecipherable with the amount of alcohol in Keith's system. "Are you saying it should?"

"It would to me." Keith mentioned. "I don't want to trip over a dress in my heels."

"You scared men are going to hit on you pretty boy?"

" 'Thought we'd established that I only want one in particular to hit on me." Keith grinned faintly. "Or were you that quick to give up on me already?"

Lance snorted. "Flirting won't get you out it Keith."

Keith became fascinated when Pidge finished the lacing and started to work on Lance's chest with such an ease to her practised hands that Keith envied their friendship. Her fingers touched over his chest carelessly, painting a chest on where Lance couldn’t reach, propping the fake breasts up for him to see, and skimming her hands down his waist without the slightest twitch.

Keith needn’t guess at how their friendship had survived throughout the years. All at once Keith felt a lump in his throat at the loss of Shiro; at how much he ached in missing him. Shiro, the man who had helped him after he had left Sendak, the guy who managed to land Keith a job among the dockside, who had guided him throughout all hours of the night when Keith had felt the debilitating effects of Sendak’s teaching on him.

Hunk swapped with Pidge to further assist Lance and Pidge settled down next to Keith.

"Something wrong?" She asked.

"....Just...” Keith sighed, the buzz evaporating at the thought of Shiro's bed - empty when he came back. How the sheets had been slashed, their furniture upturned but no matter how much Keith had searched, not a red dot of blood could be found. There had been no notes, and no lingering traces of his presence and Keith had screamed into an empty silence. Shiro had been gone. "Nothing, sorry about that."

It was easy to forget that Pidge _was_ a girl. But then again, it seemed like she didn't tilt as heavy to stereotypical appearances anyway.

"It's hard to offend me Keith." She managed a smile. "But there are exceptions to every rule."

She nodded into direction of Lance and Hunk just when “HUNK!” carried over the room when Hunk added weights to his hips and brushed over a bruise or two.

"You guys go way back huh?"

"Well." Pidge pondered it for a moment. "How old were you when you were handed to Sendak?"

"Six I think." Keith didn't feel like remembering and his fingers twitched. "Not too old."

"I was five." Pidge said. "I had just lost my brother Matt, he was my last remaining relative after our parents had died. When Matt got sick it was the worst, but with his passing came a certain peace y'know? At least..." she sighed. "At least I didn't have to worry about _when_ anymore."

Keith struggled for a moment, wondered whether or not she would appreciate it, before tracing patterns on her arm in comfort. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She nodded, kept her gaze firmly trained on Hunk and Lance before her. "It just got worse when I got to Sendak. I stupidly thought I would've made it out on my own but being turned over to Sendak was not a greater alternative. Lance was the first one who reached out to me before anyone else did."

There was a faint smile on her face. "It took me a while to trust him, but he never left my side. When he heard about Matt he told me about his sister Lorena, or his brother Alexis. Hunk always joined in when talking about his older brother Hemi. Both of them really cared you know?"

"When there were older kids trying to tease me, Lance always stepped in. When there was too little food, Hunk always gave me his piece. They protected me and treated me like their own from the start. So I figured that I had to protect them too."

Keith's fingers squeezed Pidge's arm.

"So you threatened me."

"So I threatened you." She shrugged. "Believe me, I know a lot about the people we investigate, and if push comes to shove – I can take them out.”

"You really care about them." It was a statement, not a question.

"I do." Pidge hopped off the chair. "But don't let them know about it!"

"I tell Shiro though." It came out softly, words breathed into the air. His hand flopped where Pidge had left the space. "I miss him."

Pidge paused, then turned to him on her heels and faced him. "I know you do. And we'll help you find him."

"Thank you."

“DAMMIT HUNK, THOSE LASHES ARE SUPPOSED TO GO _ON_ MY EYE!”

### III.

The party was expected. A _soirée_ Keith'd been told. It never started making sense: The blur of colours of people wanting and needing to feel important, a brush of silk against his hand, a smile hidden behind a fan, a cough discreetly behind him to attend him to their importance.

It was ridiculous.

Not in the least place because Keith's hair had been smoothed back and clipped into place with meticulous detail before a wig was added to the mix. They were soft blonde curls, loosely tied back and gathered at the neck, and glued to where his hairline began. It was itchy and uncomfortable but Pidge had considered it the best choice for his tone of skin ("a ghostly visor" were Lance's words) and the shape of his eyes. Keith still had no fucking idea what she had meant by that.

His task was to watch over Lance from the side-lines; to let him dance around the baron in an attempt to catch his attention, before striking up conversation. Keith was not to interfere, this much he understood. If Lance would be in any danger, he would flash 'the signal': A three-fingered wave that was as elusive as it was quick. Lance soothed Keith's worries; even if he didn't catch it, he would rush over to his side regardless so Keith could play the hero.

It would simply be nice to have a warning beforehand.

Keith felt discomfited in such an environment and although Pidge had strictly forbidden him from committing social suicide by skulking about the dinner table, Keith found it hard to resist the table strewn with alcohol instead.

When he glanced over, Lance was making private conversation with a girl that appeared to be his age. She was pretty, heart-shaped face and eyes set with a heavy pair of lashes that far outshone what Hunk had put on for Lance. A pretty mouth with a cupid's bow, a faint blush dusting her cheeks and a sweet laugh.

Lance outshone her ten times over.

It wasn't in the trails of black hair that reached down the small of his back, or the waist that had been cinched in further, nor the lashes that had been glued to his eyelids in addition to a nicely painted face.

Lance exuded raw power, tipping from the neck into the hands that bore excellent nails. It was in his posture, the upright posture, the tilt of his chin, the laugh that never seem to break character. He was great at this, _excellent at this_ Keith supplied within his mind as he sipped his wine and watched Lance break away to talk to more women, more men, spared a glance at a displaced child.

"Is she yours?" A man had come to stand beside him and Keith managed to keep his surprise in check.

"She is." And he fastened a smile in place.

"She sure is beautiful, that one." Keith had to keep talking, as he hadn't the slightest clue of who had decided to strike up conversation. Of course, that's what Pidge had warned him would happen. There was no way getting out of this political get-together without having to talk to someone once. Keith missed the harbour dearly. "Might I enquire after her name?"

Lance caught his look when Keith mulled the question over, his face was somewhere between exasperation and panic. Keith frowned, wondered what was wrong, but the expression was there and gone again and Lance didn't appear either hurt or harassed by the man he was talking to. It was only a split second, a slight crack in the mask.

"Hm?"

Keith realised he still had not yet given the answer and scraped his throat. "You'll have to forgive me." _Remember your manners Keith_ , his rationale had started to sound a lot like Pidge. "She still dazzles me every day, my Ellaria."

He turned to face his partner, a balding man with grey jowls sporting a belly the size of a barrel who could not be younger than fifty, who approved of them with a smile. "Ellaria. I'll make nice with her soon."

Something in his tone didn't quite sit well with Keith but he smiled nonetheless, albeit not incredibly genuine.

 _'This is fine,'_ he told himself, 'Y _ou're the jealous husband after all.'_

The man only continued to smile. "How rude of me not to introduce myself after asking after a man's wife." He extended a hand, beset with jewels that glittered under the lamplight. "I'm called Tasar."

The target. How _stupid_ of him.

The surprise showed on his face and Lance caught it from the other side of the room and Keith could feel another lecture coming on if the situation wasn't entirely inappropriate for it. "My lord Valamin."

Tasar laughed, lips outstretched around his jowls. "Please, there is no need for that. Messer Valamin will do."

The insult was a slight one, but present nevertheless. Messer was more carefree way of addressing someone yet when combined with a last name had the air of condescension, a title for a master to rule over his servants. ' _Then why introduce yourself to me that way you bastard_.'

"My lord Valamin." Keith grinned. "I'm certainly not important enough to be part of your inner circle."

The smile dropped then. "I assure you that I'm willing to be on friendly terms with you sir....?"

Lance had decided to drop in then, red lips pulled into a sensuous smile as he touched a hand on Keith's wrist. The grip turned tight within seconds and it was only due to years of being accustomed to bruises that Keith kept his face in check. "Darling!"

Keith turned, tried to figure out what to say, but Lance was there first. "Surely you are getting along well with our lord Valamin?"

"Of course dear." Lance’s grip turned less tight and he turned towards their target with a flourish.

"Oh that is so good to hear." Keith could _feel_ the heat in Tasar's gaze when he stared openly at the way Lance's tits were propped up prettily inside of the laced corset. Well, they did look _very_ realistic. "I was hoping for an opportunity to speak with the lord myself!"

"Please." The same hand was extended but this time to snatch Lance's hand away from his own, a greedy kiss placed upon the skin. "Call me Tasar."

Keith's skin crawled but he took a careful step back; close enough to look jealous, far enough to give them the incentive to leave.

"Oh?" Lance faked delight real well in the way his face lit up and his eyes narrowed in pleasure. "Well please call me Ella your lordship."

"Ella." Tasar nodded, his double chin quacking under the force of it. Keith did his best not to laugh. "Please, might I introduce you to some of my friends?"

_'Wandering hand number one and two and my cock that can't wait to -'_

"I'd be pleased."

Keith snapped out of it when Lance kicked a foot against his own and looked to him for confirmation. "Be back in twenty minutes."

That was the standard reply they had come up with; the old geezer loved a challenge. Unfortunately this also made it more dangerous for Lance to be alone with him within a limited time frame and Keith was possibly more aware of the risks than Lance was. They had to do it for Shiro. As guilty as it made him feel, Keith would sacrifice Lance's comfort for Shiro always.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't step if the conversation took a nosedive south.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes dear, have some fun whilst I'm gone." A laugh. "Please try and look like you enjoy yourself."

And they were gone; a brief touch of Keith's hand upon Lance's wrist in reassurance that fell flat against his side.

Keith went against Pidge's advice and took to drinking another glass of ale, already feeling his anxiety spike when Lance had disappeared into a private area within the premises. There was nothing he could do in the present situation, had to trust in Lance and the way he swayed his pretty artificial hips, the way his mouth moved as he laughed.

 _Fuck_ Lance was gorgeous as a woman too. And that wasn't ever a particular way Keith thought he would've swung.

Although, granted, Keith didn't appear to think about his attraction to anyone much at all. There hadn't been the time. Not lately, not ever if he gave it a proper thought, but women had barely made it to the equation. Men were beautiful, chiselled works of muscle and roaring laughter that ended in a thump against your back in welcome.

Yet there was the tantalising sway of Lance's body as it moved across the floor, one foot tipped gently in front of the other, long hair caressing the dusted cheeks and lips plump enough to -

Keith snapped out of it. Twenty minutes were sure to have passed by now and two empty glasses stood on the table.

_Shit._

### IV.

"Where is he, oh lord fuck where _is he_?" Keith collided with a couple on their way to the inner chambers of the house. He ignored them their curses when the woman hit the wall beside them. The frantic way in which he searched could very well be misconstrued as his current 'character' but it had definitely been thirty minutes and Lance could very well be -

_'Pressed against a wall, squirming beneath him - eyes panicked and mouth forced shut by a meaty hand.'_

This was terrible.

Keith snuck past two attendants that were clearly paying more attention to the serving girls than to any of the patrons that had been invited, and managed to tiptoe his way upstairs to the master's chambers. Lance had to be here. There hadn't been any room downstairs where he could be.

Pressing a careful ear against the door, breath fluttering out, Keith heard nothing in the room beyond and cursed. The next bore nothing either and the panic was threatening to choke him – it’s not as if he particularly cared for Lance but Keith _owed_ him responsibility, owed him the safety of protection.

“…Are you going to talk about another man all evening?”

Keith stiffened when finally the third door yielded results, albeit in the form of a low murmur so that he had to strain real hard to overhear.

“You know it’s the latest gossip.” _‘Lance’s voice, thank fuck._ ’ “Rumour is that he sailed across.”

“Oh.” Laughter. “I helped spread that rumour myself.”

“Ohhhh.” Keith winced at the fake pitch in Lance’s voice. “That’s so interesting, please… How did you get involved? I heard they are very particular.”

There was a thump against the wall and Keith prayed to the gods that they weren’t involved in _that_.

“The galra organisation only trusts the very best of course.” Keith wanted to barf. “But they are also holding Shiro captive.”

Keith gasped and instantly slapped a hand against his mouth, stumbling back from the door. The galra? What would the galra want with Shiro? If Shiro had been taken by their organisation it would be near-impossible to break him out…. They had owned several buildings, and then there was the dungeon at the heart of the servant’s quarters….

 _‘They’ll torture him.’_ He leaned against the wall, forehead pressed against wallpaper and completely forgot to check on Lance. He forced himself to think of what laid on the other side of the door, made himself listen. _‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left him alone.’_

“…little extreme?”

“Who knows?” A pause. “Certainly not my problem to know who the galra are meddling with.”

“He was such a handsome boy…” Keith was seething but had to remember that Lance was acting. And that Lance was damned good at it too. If Keith decided to storm into the room then that would mean the end of the mission.

It was pretty fucking tempting though.

“And am I not handsome?”

“You’re stunning Tasar, too bad my bore of a husband will come collect me soon.”

“Ah yes, _him_.” The disdain was palpable through the heavy wood. “Darling surely he won’t care if he hasn’t come to collect you now?”

“My husband is _very_ possessive of me Tasar.” Rummaging behind the door, careful steps. Keith’s panic flared up again.

“I doubt that.” There was an undignified squeak. “Last I saw he considered the liquor more interesting than your body my dear.”

“Unhand me.” Lance’s voice did not waver. “Please.”

Keith slammed the door open.

The scene in front of him disturbed him as much as the conversation had; Lance was pressed up against the opposite wall, one hand around his waist and another flattened against his chest. And although he was at a clear disadvantage in height and bodyweight his eyes had never changed; they were hard and unflinching even as he faced down Keith.

Tasar turned and Keith launched himself forward; fist drawn back and knife slipping from a laced cuff into the other. Tasar’s startled scream was cut short when Keith’s fist collided with his nose and broke it clean.

“Mother _fucker_.” Tasar wailed, blood streaming from between his hands as he clutched his face, and Keith took his stumble forward as an attempt to retaliate and promptly collided his foot with his shin. Tasar stumbled, and fell.

“The door.” Keith hissed in the momentum and Lance was already on it, locking it in place and muffling much of the sound that came from within.

And that’s where it went wrong. As Tasar regained his footing and landed a punch against Keith’s shoulder, pushing him back against the door, Keith’s survival instinct kicked in. That is to say, he spun forward and slit Tasar’s throat with one brief slash along the jugular.

“Oh fuck.” Blood burst from the wound and covered Keith head to toe. Tasar attempted to scream but Lance forced his hands against the dying man’s mouth. He retained that position until finally he had stopped twitching and Lance dropped him the floor, staring at Keith with a mixture between incredulity and awe.

“ _Fuck_.” Lance repeated, pretty dress stained with blood and looking at the carpet slowly soaking up the rest.

“Sorry.” Keith wiped his knife on the bedsheets, shaking on his legs. He was unbothered by death, but fuck did adrenaline do something to you. Not to mention the fact that they found themselves in a _really_ awkward position.

“Sorry?” Incredulity definitely took over now. “We’re fucking dead if someone comes up.”

“We’re wearing disguises.” Keith tried to placate him by moving his hands. It didn’t work.

“Sure, let’s just show up as ourselves even though _we_ weren’t invited.” Lance snapped. “Fuck – just get changed quickly. We’ll have to escape through the window.”

“I thought you were in danger!” Keith snapped back, affronted at the ingratitude. “I thought we agreed on twenty minutes!”

“You didn’t come get me.” Lance’s mouth was a thin line. “And I’m used to wandering hands. I would’ve lived.”

Keith snatched Lance’s wrist and tightened his grip. “No you shouldn’t be.”

“I shouldn’t be.” Lance agreed before gingerly rubbing his wrist. “Let’s just go.”

“Did…. Was it true?”

“Shiro?” Lance looked nervous. “Probably, Pidge’ll need to verify it with another source but…”

“Thank you.”

Lance wavered when he got the dress off. “Yeah no problem. Let’s go.”

They changed quickly and prepared to leave, but not before Lance spat on the corpse and made his escape through the window.

Naturally the city guard was on its feet within thirty minutes of the murder and Lance did his best to hide the nervosity in his steps, they hadn’t had the time to change his heels. They darted down the marketplace as the Watch surrounded them only two streets from ii Vallora. Keith’s heart beat faster again.

He hadn’t even noticed how Lance’s heels had stopped clicking against the cobblestones until a hand grasped his wrist and pulled him into an alleyway.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Lance forced him to look up and Keith’s face was pale. “What’s going on?”

The bright national blue of the city watch, the fear that had clutched his heart so tightly Keith felt the black creeping into his eyesight.

All of a sudden he was a child again, barely nine years old, barely counting to breathe when he had run from the hill up north. How he had clutched the blanket from his bed, the last childish resort for that final bit of security. He could only remember the sharp voice, laced with panic, in Shiro's image. _Run Keith!_

“Not good with the guards.” Keith managed a weak smile. “Let’s move on, we’re only a short ways off.”

Lance tapped against his face, long hair brushing against Keith’s skin. They had decided to keep their facial disguises in case they were seen; better to be recognised as a character than be recognised for their actual faces.

“Let’s go then.”

Lance didn’t baby him which Keith was thankful for.

The harsh clack of his heels continued all the way until they were back at the hideout.

### V.

Pidge was frantic.

She pushed the both of them down in a chair whilst Hunk immediately got to cleaning them up and changing them out of their disguises. There were an endless series of questions until Lance finally snapped at Pidge that he was fine.

Pidge smacked him over the head in response, tears gathering in her eyes and yelling at him that the sound of alarm and the guards had her scared to death.

“Sorry Pidge.” He muttered, rubbing a hand through his short hair. “I’m really sorry.”

Pidge finally turned her heated gaze on Keith. “And _you_.” She said, advancing on him and her height did not matter in the slightest as Keith felt himself shrinking back. “Was killing him the ultimate option?”

“He…” Keith refused to admit to _no_ but could also not meet Pidge’s eyes. If the National Guard had gotten hold of them things would have gotten really ugly. “He was touching Lance.”

Pidge rounded on Lance immediately but Hunk’s hands stilled first.

“What does he mean by that Lance?” Hunk’s voice was quiet.

“He didn’t do much.” Lance waved away the concerns in annoyance. “Keith was right outside the door and came in before anything else happened.”

Hunk turned to Keith, the smile too melancholy for his face. “Thank you.”

Lance didn’t protest it, didn’t even mention how Keith had abandoned him in ten terrifying minutes alone. Keith felt guilty on top of the mountain of fear and panic too. He shouldn’t have waited that long.

“It’s not your fault Keith.” Lance looked at him, the same firm expression as he’d given him when he had first burst through the door. “I know what that expression means by now, so quit it man. I wouldn’t have gotten information out of him in the first fifteen minutes regardless.”

Pidge had grabbed a hold of Keith’s hand and squeezed it. He tried not to let his surprise show.

“And what did you find out?”

“Shiro’s been taken.” Lance swallowed as Hunk tended to a few scrapes from their unfortunate encounter with the drop into the streets.

“By?”

“The galra.”

Pidge squeezed harder and her grin appeared ferocious under the warm heat of the fire.

“Guess that just means I have to up our game then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith finally realises Lance is handsome. It's a pretty great revelation imho. 
> 
> This ended up taking longer than I thought and I'm very happy to finally be able to get the fourth chapter out. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


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